


A study in Cat Gentlemen

by annoying_antisocial



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gay Cats, Mollstrade, Other, cat!Sherlock, cat!john, dog!moran, dog!moriarty, glodfish!sally, goldfish!anderson, pigeon!mrs.hudson, pretty much crack fluff, yes this is what i do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:01:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2262033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annoying_antisocial/pseuds/annoying_antisocial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade has a crush on Molly Hooper, and he gets a cat to impress her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A study in Cat Gentlemen

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr: annoying-antisocial-fanfiction   
> Inspired by my kittens John and Sherlock  
> unbeta'd

Lestrade really didn’t know why he had so many cats, well not openly. Secretly he knew it was for Molly, he’d first adopted the self important gray tabby when he found out a certain pathologist had a strange love for cats. Mycroft practically ran his house now, he swore the cat was the one who made all his cake disapear. It was like owning a British Garfield who thought he was the government, ridiculous.

Molly had loved the fat cat when she’d first seen him curled up in the umbrella holder, and eventually she and Lestrade ended up at a pub and the woman had a way of saying ‘Greg’ that made it sound just a bit like sex. 

So Mycroft got to stay, and eat the DI’s cake and sleep with his umbrella’s. Greg was fine with it really, he’d even started to really enjoy the cats company. He partially thanked the purring ball for his success with Molly, who was now moving in with him. With her came with two cats. One named Toby, who mostly hid in the bathtub and never talked to anybody, and another named Sherlock.

Sherlock wasn’t like any other cats. He was sleek black with piercing blue eyes, almost the same as Mycroft’s green orbs, and a need to sit on everybody’s feet. The cat liked to sleep on Lestrade’s files, and sit in the kitchen while Molly did her ‘experiments’. Lestrade loved his quirky doctor, and her cats, but Sherlock was a handful. He and Mycroft seemed to have this strange hatefully loving relationship. 

Mycroft would sit on the window sill on the days when the neighbors walked their dogs, looking so despondent and vaguely threatening that the dogs started whimper when they passed. This habit started after one of Sherlock’s ‘cases’ (As molly referred to them) and one of the dogs ran the slinking mini-panther up a tree. Mycroft came out hissing and spitting so violently that Lestrade- may or may not have- jumped onto his car hood to keep away from the animal. The two dogs- Moriarty and Moran- ran away barking what seemed to be animalistic threats with bleeding scratches on their noses.

Magnussen had called Lestrade the next day mumbling in a cold monotone that if Mycroft ever touched his dogs again something dreadful would happen to the cat (Or Sherlock, and the fact that the man was trying to pit a cat’s ‘sentimental’ attachments against him disturbed the poor DI so much he hung up.) When Greg looked over at Mycroft sitting with the umbrella’s the cat looked as if he’d heard everything ad was extremely unimpressed with the entire world. 

Sherlock also seemed to have a strange love for tormenting Lestrade’s goldfish, Anderson and Sally. Anderson would headbutt the glass while the black cat just sat beside the bowl, head tilted and Greg swore he was smiling as Sally swam back and forth behind Anderson. Lestrade decided she was trying to get the self-destructive fish to stop, but then realized he was contemplating the motives of fish and went to reevaluate his entire situation while watching Top Gear. 

* * *

 

Molly came home, grinning from ear to ear one night and Lestrade felt fear rise up in his chest. The entry light was off, but he could see something moving behind his lovely fiance and sighed. “What did you bring home?”

"Oh Greg!" She squealed, and he knew then and there whatever was pacing the entry way would be staying. "He’s the most precious little cat. He went to Afghanistan with a few soldiers as a baby, staying with the doctors. He was supposed to make injured soldiers feel better. Mike said he was an amazing helper, made everyone smile." Her beautiful face fell then, brown eyes a little wet as she glanced behind her. By now Sherlock had come and wrapped himself around Greg’s feet, staring with a tilted head at the shadow. 

"He was outside when something happened, I couldn’t really follow but he was injured." Molly’s lip was quivering now, and Greg wanted to wrap her up in his arms and kiss her head and tell her that it was all going to be alright. "His left shoulder and leg, he’s got a limp Greg…No one wants a cat with a limp." She was pleading now, but they both knew she’d already won. It was all just a show at this point, and Sherlock looked bored.

"What’s his name love?" Lestrade whispered, walking forward to hug Molly, planting kisses to soft light brown hair.

"John, doctor John Watson." She said with a little smile, flicking the light on behind her to reveal a some what terrified cat. He was plain gray with white feet and an odd orange spot right on his back end. It was charming really, the oddity that made him different. Sherlock looked interested as he slunk forward, making the war torn cat to inch back just a bit. "Sherlock likes him!"

"That’s Sherlock liking another cat?" Lestrade said, loosing all hope of making the cat sociable. They’d never have dinner parties. Molly just nodded, her dimpled grin returning as John finally stopped backing away and looked right at Sherlock, almost like a challenge. Lestrade automatically liked the feline. "Well how can I say no to a war hero?"

Molly’s squeal might have woken the neighbors.

* * *

 

John had a collar when he came, it had ‘221’ written on it in gold letter. Lestrade and Molly had no idea what it meant, but he’d come with it and they felt it unnecessary to remove. Over time, and many of Sherlock’s ‘cases’, the couple realized John’s limp seemed to have dissipated, and eventually gone completely. It was a miracle in itself, even Mycroft (who liked to back John into a corner and growl occasionally, as if to remind him of his place.) seemed to have accepted the new memeber of their family.

John helped Sherlock to. The cat didn’t pace as much at night, and ate at least daily now. Not to mention Lestrade’s goldfish were finally at peace, unless Sherlock got very bored or John was at the vet.

One day and old pigeon began landing outside Greg’s house. Molly was the first to notice the nice old thing, and began feeding it. Lestrade resigned himself to a life of random stray animals and Molly, happy to get them both now. His stress level was down, he smiled more, and all the animals seemed perfectly content. None of the cats chased the pigeon away, letting her (Molly said it was a kindly old woman-bird) happily sit on the window and watch the couple frantically pull together the last pieces of their wedding ceremony.  

"Mrs. Hudson needs more seeds." Molly said one day while flipping through a sample book of lace and ribbon and things Lestrade couldn’t dream of ever having at his wedding. 

"Mrs. Who?"

"The pigeon, Mrs. Hudson." Molly said looking at her fiance as if he were an idiot and should know that she’d named their pigeon. Oh great, now he’d claimed the thing. This was pathetic.

"Alright I’ll pick some up."

* * *

 

Weddings were terrible. Loud and stuffy and smelly and crazy. Lestrade hated his cousin Mary’s, and his friend Clara’s with a passion. He imagined he’d like his own wedding just a bit, because hopefully he’d marry someone he was crazy for.

He was wrong.

He loved his wedding more then anything. It was subtle and bright, yellow and pink for Molly, a large cake and plenty of food for Mycroft because yes his cats were at his wedding. In the front row. Wearing tiny suits. 

All of the guests had stared at the oddly well behaved and smartly dressed trio, but they all knew Molly and they all knew the couple’s cats. Toby was curled up under John’s chair, acting like a perfectly normal cat. Oh how Greg wished all his cats could be like that. Mycroft sat on the chair nearest isle, looking put out and annoyed everytime a child scrubbed his head with a tiny, dirty hand. Lestrade couldn’t help but smirk at his old, fat tabby.

Sherlock and John sat next to each other, and the DI felt as though they were trading secrets throughout the entire ceremony. He kept glancing at them suspiciously and earning a stray few giggles from his now-wife. She knew about how much her love had humanized their cats, and stopped questioning his ramblings long ago.

The night went on, their was merry dancing, well wishes, and a scene made by Sherlock who was climbing the drapes while John meowed desperately at him and Mycroft watched, jolly with cake, from the corner. Everything was right for Molly and Greg Lestrade, perfect in it’s own way.

* * *

 

Three months after the wedding Molly and Greg settled happily into their marriage, cuddling cats on the couch, holding hands and watching bad telly. It was all perfect, then Molly screamed.

"Pregnant?" Greg said, looking a little pale as his wife nodded with wide eyes. "What made you even-"

"Sherlock."

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock." Molly repeated, pointing at the cat who was leading John under the table and looked to be on a mission. "I brought him to the drug store to talk to Mrs. Turner and he jumped onto the shelf with the tests. Knocked everyone down, and well I decided to by one."

"Sherlock…" Lestrade sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. He opened his eyes to find Molly staring at him, pouty lip and wet eyes and all. "I’m happy, love. i’ve always wanted a child, and I’d never pick anyone else to have mine with then you." He kissed her head, pulling her close with both hands and just holding her a moment, already feeling the change in their lives coming.

"Greg!" Molly shouted, and Lestrade rushed around the corner to find his wife with a round belly smiling at the coffee table. He flattened the (strangely pink) apron around his waste and stuck the spatula in his belt before moving beside his wife. 

"Yeees?" He asked, walking into the room slowly and looking around for any damage the Sherlock could’ve caused. 

"Our cats are gay."  Molly said matter-of-factly, pointing at the table. The DI, unable to respond, looked to find Sherlock and John curled around each other, looking pleased.

"Cuddling makes them gay?"

"Have you been paying any attention Greg? They’re in love!"

"They’re cats!"

"Cats in love!" Molly insisted while Mycroft wandered around the corner, looking at the two other cats, turning and walking back out. "Mycroft agrees."

"He-how was that-he did not-" Greg took a deep, slow breath, reminding himself she may be speaking more from hormones then actual logic and plastered on a big smile. "Yes honey."

* * *

 

Child birth was fun, for anyone. Molly screamed and cried and it made Greg’s stomach bend and twist, Lestrade paced and paced and sighed and had a few minor anxiety attacks. Molly had decided it’d be best if he stayed outside of the room, so he paced more until a nurse came up smiling.

"Mr. Lestrade?" She asked in a cheery voice and he nodded, giving a frazzled smile. "Your wife has given birth to a beautiful baby girl." 

"Hey babe…" Molly said with a weak smile, holding a small bundle to her chest as Lestrade shuffled into the room. He returned the smile, feel nervousness rush his veins as he neared the bed. molly took his hand gently, moving to show the round, sleeping face of a baby. "This is our baby girl….Janine."

* * *

 

Lestrade pushed the door open, Molly following with the baby bundled tightly in her arms. The rain had let up and the new parents moved quickly to get little Janine settled in. 

Greg was halfway into the house when he let the diaper bag hit the flower with a shocked noise. What he saw he wouldn’t repeat to anyone, for fear they’d never understand. Molly came up behind him, concern etched into her features as she pressed her foot into his leg.

"Greg, what’s going on?"

"Our cats are gay." Was all he could manage. 


End file.
